


Dancing in your underwear

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Red Pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a Youtube video of a guy vaccuuming in his underwear. Because let's be honest, don't we all?</p><p>(All italics should be sung to the tune of ‘I love the nightlife’ by Alicia Keys, preferably out loud and very badly)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing in your underwear

  
_“I love the nightlife…I gotta boogie..On the disco ‘round….Ohhh yeah”_

  
The off key strains to a bad 90’s pop song drifted down the stairs as Sherlock opened the door to 221 Baker Street. Shaking the rain off his Belstaff coat, he paused at the bottom of the first step and listened.

  
_“Please don’t talk about love tonight…your sweet loving won’t make it riiiiight.”_

  
Sherlock smiled to himself, there was no doubt about it; the voice belonged to Doctor John Watson. Captain in the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, veteran of Kandahar and, it appeared…a truly terrible singer.

  
_“Love and lies, just bring me down….When you’ve got lovers all over town.”_

  
Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned on the balustrade, fist against his mouth, stifling his laughter. He’d never heard John sing and although it made his heart leap to think the gloomy clouds that had haunted him since Mary’s sudden departure may be lifting, he rather thought that perhaps John should consider an alternate way of expressing his joy than endangering the eardrums of everyone in the street.

  
_“You can love them all..and when you’re through, maybe that’ll make….HUH..a man outa you.”_

  
At the throaty grunt, the last of Sherlock’s control slipped and the first laugh escaped. Covering his mouth with a gloved hand, he sunk to the bottom step as the chuckles overtook him and he was soon wiping tears from his eyes.

  
_“I wanna go where the people dance...I want some..ACK…SHON…I wanna liiiive.”_

  
Sherlock leaned his head against the wall, gasping for breath and clutching at his ribs. Clearing his throat and gaining control of himself he silently got to his feet and tiptoed up to the open door of 221B, avoiding the creaking step third from the top.

  
As John began on the second chorus, Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, fully expecting to see John preparing dinner in the kitchen. Instead, through the open door, he was greeted by the sight of John, naked to the waist and clad in only red briefs and socks. He had earphones in his ears and he was enthusiastically tidying the room, all while doing an uncoordinated but utterly unselfconscious dance around the room as he continued to sing tunelessly.

  
_“I gotta boogie…on the disco ‘rooouunnnddd…Oh yeaaahhh”_

John raised his arms to the sides and did a dramatic circle, catching sight of Sherlock in the doorway as he did so. His arms dropped and his voice died away like a kettle whistle taken from the heat as Sherlock’s errant laughter threatened to return in force.

  
Pulling an earbud from his ear, John straightened his shoulders and said with a firm voice that didn’t match his state of undress, “You said you’d be at Bart’s for the afternoon.”

  
It was enough to tip the balance and Sherlock slid down the doorframe, laughing helplessly. Between gasps he managed, “And miss this? That would have been a tragedy. Oh John….You’re wasted in medicine, you should be on the stage.” He dabbed at his red eyes.

  
“Yeah, thanks for that Sherlock.” John said, a little offended. “So kill me for wanting to enjoy some things on my own..in the privacy of MY OWN FLAT.” John tried to push past Sherlock, heading for his own room and no doubt, his clothes.

  
Hearing the hurt in John’s voice, he blocked John’s exit with a mixture of legs and arms, levering himself off the floor as John moved to exit via the kitchen.

  
“No, John. I’m sorry. Please, wait.” Sherlock searched his mind palace for the right thing to say. Apologies weren’t really his area but John was the exception to the rule. For John, Sherlock would do virtually anything, “Please…Your voice …isn’t that bad.”

  
Now it was John’s turn to laugh, but his was harsh and bitter as he turned back to Sherlock, “Yes it is, I’m not an idiot Sherlock.”

  
“You’re a bit of an idiot.” Sherlock interjected.

  
“Not helpful! Sherlock….” John stepped back into the body of the kitchen, “The quality of my voice isn’t the point. The point is…” John sighed, “The point IS...that I like singing. What’s more, I like singing loudly and badly and preferably in my underwear.”

  
Sherlock cocked his head a teasing smile at his lips, “You like singing badly? That’s fortunate, because you do that quite well.”  
John rolled his eyes, “I hope you like sleeping on a bare mattress and dressing in dirty underwear because you’re in danger of seriously pissing of the man who does the laundry right now.” Although the words were confrontational, there was no sting in them. Sherlock’s playful tone had re-established the equilibrium in the flat.

  
John grabbed one of Sherlock’s robes, discarded for an unknown reason over the back of a kitchen chair, checked it for toxic chemicals and shrugged his arms into it, belting it at the waist and absently rolling up the sleeves. Feeling more covered, he paused as he noticed the odd look on Sherlock’s face.

  
“What? If you leave them laying around, I don’t see why I shouldn’t use them. Sorry, should I have asked?” John fingered the soft material at his wrists.

  
Sherlock’s voice took on an odd, softer tone, “No. It’s fine, it’s…good actually.”

  
“Good?”

  
“In fact, that you feel comfortable enough here to do that, and to dance in your underwear ……badly….is rather surprisingly…good.”

  
John looked confused, “Well of course I feel comfortable here, this is my home.”

  
Sherlock released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding for months. He physically felt the muscles in his shoulders relax at John’s words.

  
“Sherlock? You OK, you’ve gone a bit..strange” he chuckled lightly, “or at least more strange than usual. What’s going on?”

  
“You mean that….you actually mean that?” Sherlock’s voice held disbelief.

  
“What?”

  
“That you’re…home?”

  
“Well of course I’m home.” John reached out a hand to Sherlock’s forearm, “Wait. Did you think I wasn’t staying? Of course I’m staying!”

  
“I.….wasn’t sure.”

  
John shook his head in wonder, “And you call me an idiot!”

  
Sherlock’s face split in a rare genuine grin of undisguised joy. John had only ever seen a couple and to have it directed full force toward him made him realise the magnitude of the doubts Sherlock must have been carrying over the past months.  
“John Watson….I give you permission to sing, and dance, and borrow my robe, my toothpaste, my expensive shampoo. You can take my spot on the couch and my credit card.” Sherlock rambled with abandon. “You can take up too much room in the taxi, and you can take offence at the way I treat Anderson. In fact John, there’s only one thing you can’t take.”

  
John was grinning back, “And what’s that?”

  
“My heart John….because you’ve had that all along. Welcome home Doctor Watson.” Sherlock reached out and pulled the shorter man to him in a fierce hug, “Welcome home...John.”


End file.
